


R U Mine?

by villainovae



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne has Issues in general, Dad/Father kink too, Daddy Kink, Jason Todd Has Daddy Issues, M/M, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Pseudo-Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:36:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29658369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/villainovae/pseuds/villainovae
Summary: Bruce doesn’t know what he expected when he opened the door of the oft-unused penthouse, but it wasn’t the faint sound of The Clash drifting out of the kitchen. He wondered if Tim had stopped by, and left the radio on in a sleep-starved daze.“Hey, Bats.”Jason, sans the holsters on his combat pants but still wearing his heavy black combat boots and body armor over his T-shirt, stood at the counter drizzling glaze on a chocolate bundt cake.
Relationships: Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 1
Kudos: 71





	R U Mine?

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not participating in brujay week but i had this sitting around in my drafts and figured this might be a good time to post it XD
> 
> please pay attention to the tags! this fic contains daddy + dad kink and is rather heavy on the pseudo-incest. 
> 
> additional tw: could be considered dub-con because of previous power dynamics and alcohol consumption/implied impairment. i didn't explicitly write it as non- or dub-con but please stay safe and take care of yourself :)

Bruce doesn’t know what he expected when he opened the door of the oft-unused penthouse, but it wasn’t the faint sound of The Clash drifting out of the kitchen. He wondered if Tim had stopped by, and left the radio on in a sleep-starved daze.

“Hey, Bats.” 

Jason, sans the holsters on his combat pants but still wearing his heavy black combat boots and body armor over his T-shirt, stood at the counter drizzling glaze on a chocolate bundt cake. 

He stilled. “I don’t want to fight.”

Jason hummed, a non-committal sound, continuing to decorate his confection. “Neither do I.” 

“Why-- How did you get in?” 

The penthouse had been bought after Jason died. He wasn’t on the registry for the fingerprint scan at the front door, unless he had a key, but Bruce had trackers in each of them.

Jason laughed, finally looking up. “You sentimental bastard. The keypad? On the window?”

Jason’s birthday. 16 - 7 - 98. 

“You could say the same about yourself. The Clash? Really?” Bruce felt himself almost smiling as he said it. Jason snorted and went back to icing his cake with care. Bruce could see the mixing bowls and cake-pan piled up in the sink-- it was a good thing Alfred wasn’t there.

He watched Jason in silence. He had baked with Alfred many times in his youth, probably had made cakes just like this. It was a meticulous art, one that suited him. He couldn’t remember ever doing it with Jason, but he did remember the first Christmas they had ever spent together, where the twelve-year-old had stuffed himself with enough cookies to make himself sick. He had never seen such extravagance before except on the television. Every time he unwrapped a present, he looked at Bruce like the man was going to take it away.

“You gonna eat this with me or what?”

Jason sat the cake, plated on a piece of floral china, on the kitchen table.

“I’ll… get a wine.” He picked out a Cabernet Sauvignon from the racks of the wine cooler, got out two glasses. Vaguely, he registered that Jason was just barely old enough to drink. The Red Hood poured himself a too-large glass of wine, and Bruce was reminded of how he had used to sneak champagne at galas (and immediately cough in disgust).

The wine was good and the cake was Alfred-tier, a simple-but-rich chocolate, although Jason probably went harder on the glaze than the butler would have. 

They sat across from each other at the small table in a sad approximation of the good relationship that they did not have. They ate in silence. Bruce caught himself casting small glances at Jason, at his face and at his eyes. They used to be a gorgeous shade of dark, stormy blue, somewhere in between Tim’s sterling-grey and Dick’s clear-skies. Now, however, they were stained Lazarus-green, a permanent reminder of Bruce’s failures.

They ate almost three quarters of the cake between them: he hadn’t eaten since lunch, had meant to after patrol but by the time he stopped by the penthouse on a whim (changing out of his suit in the office) it was already nearing three o’clock in the morning.

“I should go back to the manor,” He said, voice barely above a whisper. It was difficult to break the silence when this was the longest amount of time he’d spent with Jason that didn’t end in punches and gunshots in some time. He started to get up.

He didn’t know if it was the wine or something else, but Jason practically flew to him. Not to attack him, like he automatically prepared for, but to crash their lips together in a kiss. Stunned, he stayed still, just feeling the way Jason’s lips moved against his, tasting the chocolate on his tongue as it took a few swipes inside his mouth. His eyes widened with surprise.

Jason pulled away, panting, and Bruce could smell the wine on his breath. He may have been tipsy, he may have been not, but he was close enough to see the lashes on his half-lidded eyes and the faint freckles that dotted his cheeks. 

Maybe he was drunk, too. He hoped so, as he leaned back in to give him a proper kiss, one where he wasn’t gaping like a dead fish. He went hard and fast, and Jason kept up with him. Their teeth knocked together at some points but it deterred neither’s energy. Jason didn’t fight him when he picked him up, just wrapped his arms around his neck and allowed himself to be carried, big as he was.

Bruce nearly dropped him several times on the way there, distracted by the way Jason’s moans vibrated his skin, and the taste of blood as one of them tore their lip on the others tooth. He couldn’t say who. It could have been both of them. At last, however, he managed to get the both of them on the bed, where they each scrambled to take their clothes off. Bruce snarled as he tried to undo the fastenings on Jason’s kevlar-weave armor, finally being guided to the zipper by the owner. Thank every god that neither of them were wearing a full suit.

He practically tore Jason’s boxer-briefs off (his own still on, although quickly becoming unbearably tight). He could feel his eyebrows raising as he witnessed what awaited him: Jason’s drooling erection, obviously, uncut and flushed-red, but also a wide black disc inset in his hole.

“You were expecting this,” He accused, eyes fixed firmly on it.

Jason laughed. “I wish. Honestly? I was gonna fuck myself on your bed.” He smirked as he spread out on his back, the curls of his hair spreading out on the pillow.

He felt his skin heat up as the image was placed in his mind. Jason, positioned like he was now, fucking himself on the plug between his legs as he moaned and drooled, sweat sticky on his skin.

Bruce growled, like an animal, caging Jason’s hips with his knees and bending down to bite at the pale, thin skin of the neck below him. He sucked a collar of bruises and scraped his teeth on the harsh line of Jason’s clavicle, listening to Jason’s breath stutter.

His mouth traveled downwards and his hands with him, reverently pressing the swells of Jason’s corded muscle and tracing every scar he could see-- including the one that bisected his abdomen in a harsh but clinical line. The autopsy cut.

He could barely remember his last lay. Some ditzy socialite, whose blonde hair came from a bottle. She had been skinny with fake tits that were almost disproportionate to her size, and some sort of forgettable name. Half his age, just like Jason. But he much preferred the latter. There was something about the hardness of his body, the heft of its weight. A strange yet comforting familiarity, despite Jason’s growth (the fact that they had never done this before notwithstanding). 

Jason had quieted down some. Bruce could feel and see the slow pumping of his chest as he breathed, his mouth hanging just slightly open and looking at him through half-lidded eyes. The older man traced circles on the points of his pelvis.

“It’s okay, Bruce,” Jason breathed. “Go ahead and close your eyes, pretend I’m Dick.”

Something broke inside of him-- perhaps remembering that this was his goddamn adopted son that he was about to fuck-- and he snarled like an animal, flipping Jason onto his stomach and pulling him by the hair onto his now-loosened cock. The younger didn’t protest all, just let his mouth be slid onto Bruce’s cock.

He was warm and wet and  _ perfect _ , and Bruce groaned as he felt a tongue circle the head of his cock. Slowly, he bottomed out. He could hear the soft sounds of Jason choking beneath him, but ignored him, preferring instead to use the leverage of Jason’s hair to fuck in and out of his mouth. 

“Perfect boy,” He rumbled, watching drool leak out of the corner of Jason’s mouth. His lips were chapped and reddened from abrasion. He could feel a familiar pressure building in his core-- he slowed his pace, from hard-and-fast slams to gentle rolls of his hips. He didn’t want to come just yet, not when Jason had already prepared himself. His eyes rolled back into his head as Jason began to make sounds, the vibrations adding to the building pressure.

He panted, gently removing Jason from his cock. 

“Dad,” Jason whined. “Please, Dad.” He humped the bed a few times.

“It’s alright, baby,” Bruce practically cooed. “Roll over.” It was sick, how this turned him on, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad. Not when Jason was obviously as sick as him. Perhaps he’d made him this way. 

Jason obeyed, reverting to his original position. On his back, head on the pillow, and hard, leaking cock between his legs. Bruce slowly removed the plug from his ass, feeling it slip away with little resistance, despite its large size (almost as big as his cock). He listened to Jason’s moan of pleasure, watched his eyes roll back in his skull, and had an idea.

Just when the tip of the plug caught on his rim, he pushed it back in.

And out. And in. And out. And in.

“Is this what you wanted?” He asked, voice unaffected by his arousal. “Was this what you came here for?”

Jason mewled and hissed-- needless to say, the plug was probably scraping at his prostate which each of his too-fast thrusts. 

“No, Dad,” He barely choked out between moans. “Please, Dad!”

“Then what do you want, baby? Use your  _ words _ .” He punctuated the end of the sentence with a particularly hard thrust, and when the plug was the whole way in he gave it a harsh twist.

“Please, Daddy! Want your-- your cock,” Jason cried, choking on the last word. His dick dripped precum all over the Egyptian cotton sheets and his own thighs.

“You had my cock, baby,” He responded, keeping his tone flat.

“No-uh!” Jason groaned. “In my ass, Daddy! Please!”

“Because you asked so nicely,” Bruce purred, removing the plug roughly with a wet popping sound. He watched Jason’s hole wink and clench on nothing, but after a few seconds the amusement wore off and he was lining up his cock.

As he slid in, he lifted one of Jason’s legs up for a better position, hoisting it over his shoulder. 

“Please, lemme touch myself,” Jason slurred, needless to say referring to his painfully erect cock that spurted bursts of pearlescent pre-cum all over his inner thighs and stomach. He was soaked, now, wet and sticky.

Bruce clicked his tongue in reprimand. 

“You already asked me to fuck you, baby boy. You can’t have both. Come on my cock or not at all.” He ended the statement by bottoming out into him, heavy balls slapping against his skin. Jason whined in response, eyes rolling back into his skull.

If he thought Jason’s mouth was amazing, his hole was heaven on earth. He groaned, relishing the tight (almost too-tight) passage, its warmth and wetness. It fluttered around him, adjusting to the intrusion. 

“Fuck, baby,” He hissed. “So good. How could you keep this from your father?”

Jason moaned loudly.

“I’m so sorry, Daddy,” He choked out, voice cracking. “Please! Please, fuck me--” 

Bruce snarled and obeyed, harshly pulling out and slamming back in, again and again. Jason sobbed below him, from pleasure and the pain of his straining erection, fat tears running down his cheeks. 

“I-- I love you, Dad,” Jason slurred. Bruce drank in the sight: the flush on his cheeks, the tears spilling over his eyes. Every scar that decorated his perfectly-honed body. 

He slowed his pace to a gentle roll, leaning in to swipe the hair off of Jason’s forehead. He kissed his cheek.

“I love you too, son.”

Jason let out a particularly harsh sob. Bruce could feel the tremors of his shaking thighs as he came, cum squirting all over both of their abdomens and the thousand-thread-count sheets. He gritted his teeth as Jason’s already tight hole clenched around him, continuing to fuck him through his orgasm. With a snarl, he felt the pressure in his core build to an impossible high and spill over. He thrusted, bottoming out one last time and pumping ropes of cum deep into the ex-Robin. 

Everything else passed in an exhausted, tipsy blur. He removed his now-limp cock, watching his cum drip out of Jason’s gaping hole in fascination. 

Jason had quieted down but was still crying underneath him. Bruce was practically on top of him, now, Jason’s head buried in his chest. 

“Shush,” He cooed, as Jason’s rattling breaths shook his body. 

He wasn’t sure when Jason calmed down but he eventually did, breathing returning to a normal rate, deep instead of shallow. 

“Come back to me,” Bruce whispered, clutching Jason like-- because he was afraid of him getting up and leaving.

Jason sniffed, eyes still hazy and unfocused. “Okay. Okay, Dad.”

Bruce hugged him.

**Author's Note:**

> get urself a man who can bake and is also ur son ;)


End file.
